


always, forever

by daienkaixoxentei



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Curses, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Magic, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, The soulmate AU no one asked for, brief mentions of Lev, i just love writing kuroken okay you cant stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25741321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daienkaixoxentei/pseuds/daienkaixoxentei
Summary: Kenma has the book on his lap, open onto the first page. On it, is inscribed a tale of a prince and his warrior, of their struggle to stay together.If not in this life, then in the next.A tale in an ancient, forgotten script; a story from a long, long time ago.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 21
Kudos: 108





	always, forever

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first soulmate AU, basically, and I'm not altogether sure how it works since it's my first time writing one of these. I'm insecure about it, so reviews will be most appreciated! It does include a fair amount of hurt, but don't worry it all works out in the end. I'm glad I wrote one for kuroken, since it's my absolute favorite pairing to write for!!!! It was difficult trying to mold them to the different time periods but--I hope it turned out alright. Let me know in the comments, please! 
> 
> thank you so, so much for reading! lots of love <3 
> 
> and so, without further ado:

Kenma is freaked out. And it takes quite a lot to freak him out.

The tabby on the curb mewls at him questioningly, her strangely omniscient eyes brimming with urgency.

Whoa. He shakes his head. That's a weird thought. How can a cat have eyes that brim with urgency? She meows again, this time more insistently. He remains rooted to the spot in stunned silence as the cat trots up to him languidly and affectionately rubs herself against his ankles.

"Meow?" She says, as if to ask, _do you trust me now_?

"Sure." He finds himself saying, and then frowns.

Kenma officially must be losing it. Maybe Kuroo was right, and the late-night gaming sessions really were deteriorating his brain.

The cat canters off into an alley, and despite the sane portion of his brain screaming at him that this was crazy he goes after her like she was some freaky side-quest character.

The cat comes to a stop near a dumpster. She cries again, pawing urgently at something on the ground. Kenma approaches. Finds a book, leather-bound, aged, and withering. It looked to be extremely old, like something you would see in a museum rather than abandoned and rotting away in a suburban alleyway.

"Meow." The cat sighs in contentment. She gives Kenma one last, lingering look, and then slinks off into the darkness and disappears out of sight.

Kenma blinks after her, then lowers his gaze back to the book. A sense of dread looms over him as he studies it. There were some strange inscriptions on the cover now that he’s looking closely, faded almost into nothingness after so many years.

It’s just a book. An old, smelly, rotting book.

Kenma glares at it. Then, by some strange miracle, he leans down and picks it up.

*

The book lies atop his desk, untouched since he got home. Kenma doesn't want to confront it for some reason, and even ended up doing his homework in an attempt to put off thinking about it for too long. He frowns at the ceiling, tossing and turning in his bed. His game lies next to him untouched as its battery wastes away with the colorful pixels flickering onscreen.

Now that the interaction with the cat was in the past, the whole thing with the book seems quite silly. Maybe he really did imagine the sentience emanating from it after all. That’s what he gets for staying up playing Final Fantasy without sleeping the whole night. He _definitely_ needs a good night’s sleep. He rolls over onto his side, so that the creepy book would be out of sight and hopefully, out of mind.

Honestly, he never should’ve picked it up.

And yet.

He looks over at the desk, and sees the offending book lying atop it in all its glory, illuminated in shades of black and white in the moonbeam filtering through his curtain.

 _This is silly,_ he tells himself. _It's just a raggedy old book and the alley cat took a liking to it because it was near the dumpster for so long or something. It doesn't concern me. At all._

He glances at it again.

_Right?_

The next thing he knows, he is sitting up on his bed with the book on his lap, open onto the first page. On it, is inscribed a tale.

An ancient, forgotten script; a story from a long, long time ago.

*

part one: _kamakura period_

1199, autumn

_My brave warrior,_

_Let me begin by once more offering you my heart._

*

"Kuro, you can't leave." His voice is hoarse, ragged. "You mustn't. I have seen it in my spells. Your demise awaits you on the battlefield.”

"I have my duty, Kenma." Kuroo smiles at him, though it is somewhat crooked in nature. "Am I truly worthy of this sword if I cannot fulfill my destiny?"

"Are our destinies not one and the same?" The tears come in earnest, streaking down his cheeks in time with his soft voice. Kuroo falters. "Kuro, this battle is in vain. The enemy is crushing us."

"Then that is all the more reason for me to go." This he says in a quiet voice, a grave voice. "Even one soldier may be able to shift the tide."

More softly, he adds: "Even if I were to fail, to die protecting someone like you is but an honor to this humble soul."

Kenma’s heart skips a beat.

"At least let me come with you tomorrow." The quiet worlds spill through his lips like water, desperate, beseeching. "Let me fight by your side."

Kuroo gives him a gentle smile but the serenity of it is marred by the melancholy, the longing, the conflict in his eyes. No matter what he may say, his eyes betrayed his true feelings. This, Kenma could see as clearly as the day.

"Your place is here, Kenma. Here, in this village. You are our prince, our one hope. You must live on, or it would all have been in vain."

It seems there was no getting through to him.

"Fine." He says finally, his amber eyes shimmering with furious tears. An angry hand comes up, and wipes them away from his face. "Fine, go. Run to your death. It seems my love means nothing to you after all."

"Kenma." Kuroo's voice is pained now, the hurt clear on his features. He reaches out, grabs onto Kenma's wrist. "Your love is everything to me. Always, forever."

With another shuddering breath, Kenma escapes his grasp and strides out of the hut.

*

_My warrior, this soul is yours for the taking. In this life, and the next._

*

"Kenma, what have you done?" His lady mother's voice is aghast.

The blood seeps down his shoulders in torrents, trickling through his fingers and splattering onto the books before him as well as tatami mats underneath, desecrating their purity.

"What I must." His voice is steely. "I suggest you leave me now, mother. If you wish to hold onto your life."

His mother doesn't need to be told twice.

The marks engraved onto the skin of his left shoulder continue to bleed freely as he carves out a similar mark on the right, but the stinging is nothing to him. Nothing compared to the thought that he might lose Kuroo forever. He bites down onto his lip, so hard that it draws blood, but a muffled scream escapes him nonetheless.

The golden rays of the afternoon give way and disappear with a flash of crimson, like the splatters of blood bursting from his arm. A horrible shadow creeps towards him from the walls, slowly engulfing the room in darkness.

Kenma doesn't falter.

 _Boy,_ a low voice growls at him. _You meddle in things beyond your control. This foolishness will destroy you forever._

"If I can be with him..." He hisses through his teeth, eyes wide from the pain surging through his arms. "If not in this life, then in the next, then it is all worth it."

_Your efforts will amount to nothing! Destiny is not something to be tampered with._

"Kuro _is_ my destiny." He finishes engraving the mark, and the knife clatters down onto the mats in a flurry of blood. "You cannot keep us apart. I will make certain of it."

With the blood on his finger, he traces the patterns on his shoulder onto the covers of the books. Where his finger slides, the leather becomes luminous. It ignites, leaving behind a trail of fire that burns straight through the dark.

_Cease this!_

The shadow engulfs him with a sudden rush, but with a loud snarl the cat on his windowsill lunges forth and tackles it away. A hiss emanates as the darkness recedes, and the cat stands by Kenma's side as he completes the spell, a guard protecting him from the evils of the night.

 _I promise you, mortal._ The shadow says as it vanishes from the room. _Until the day you give yourselves to one another, this foolishness will become your curse. In this life and in the next. In a spiral of never-ending anguish._

With a gasp, the shadow dissipates, just as the sliding door slams open. Kuroo lurches forward, fear spelled across his face, and he pulls Kenma into his embrace.

"Kuro." Weakly, he hands him one of the books. "Take this with you, when you go. It is a part of me, and I have gifted it to you."

"You’re so foolish, Kenma." Tears gush down his cheeks as he sees the blood splattered about the room, the cuts on his shoulder, the paleness in his face… the light, slowly fading away from his eyes. "How could you do something so reckless? It’s not like you at all."

Kenma reaches up with a crimson hand, touches his cheek. The world is fading away.

"Promise me, Kuro. Take this with you. Keep it with you… always."

Kuroo can hardly breathe through the sobs ripping free from his chest like uncontrollable waves splashing upon the shore during the autumn tempest. Every time he inhales, the storm threatens to overcome him under a thrall of pain, and he’s struggling just to keep his head afloat.

Slowly, carefully, he takes the book.

The last of the sun’s rays filter through the screen window, illuminating the room in hues of orange and yellow. Kenma’s eyes become unfocused, and under the dazzling light they lift themselves up to Kuroo’s face, to meet his eyes one last time.

Kuroo pulls Kenma close to him, holds him tightly against his aching chest, and clings onto the last of his warmth.

"I promise." The whisper comes barely audible through his tears, but it echoes up to the heavens above.

*

_Remember that, my warrior. This heart, this body, this soul. It is yours for the taking. In this life, and the next._

_Always._

_Forever._

*

In another handwriting, the story continues:

_My sweet prince,_

_Two seasons have gone past since I last held you in my embrace. New blossoms emerge on the trees, and the flowers that bloom where its predecessors have withered serves as a reminder that death will one day claim us all._

_Has it really been so long since I last saw you? My dreams are often plagued by your voice, your touch, your demure silhouette. They are but dreams, but lately I have begun to seek them even in my waking moments. Verily, there is naught suited to hold this battered heart save for the gentleness I found in your hands._

_The battle rages on, with no victory in sight. It does not take me by surprise, for you always spoke true, my sweet prince. Death awaits me as surely as the loss to befall upon our cause, but I shall greet him with no fear. As you said, our destinies are entwined. If not in this life, then in the next._

_Always._

_Forever._

_*_

part two: _sengoku period_

1590, winter

Kenma is drawn to Kuroo Tetsurou from the moment they meet.

The latter is only a novice at the time, a samurai training to join the battalion sworn to protect the Kozume castle. Kenma is the only son of the lord _daimyo_ , and if not for the enemy attack the two children might never have crossed paths. The little master has but nine years to his name at the time.

The door to his bedchamber slides open, rattling ominously. Kenma cowers frightfully into the corner of his room, terrified that it might be an enemy soldier ready to cut him down to pieces. He shrivels into the crook between his knees, too afraid to even spare a glance.

“Hey!” A young voice shouts at him in determination. “Master Kenma, worry not! I’m here to protect you.”

Curiously, Kenma raises his eyes to see a boy with spiky hair standing by the moonlit door, holding a wooden practice sword but wearing an expression that he is nonetheless ready to cut down anybody who gets in his way. When Kenma meets his eyes, a toothy grin breaks across his features, and he jabs his chest with his thumb importantly.

Kenma inhibits a smile, and instead averts his eyes shyly. A lifetime of loneliness and quiet has made him timid.

“H-Hey,” the boy says, softer this time as he approaches Kenma slowly. He drops the practice sword to his feet and kneels by the little master. “I know you’re afraid, I am too. But we have to be brave.”

Kenma looks at him stubbornly, and whispers in a somewhat steely voice. “I’m not afraid.”

“You aren’t?”

This time, he does allow himself a small smile. Though there is laughter in his voice, he means it when he says: “You’re here to protect me, right?”

And the boy _beams._

“Kuroo Tetsurou, glad to be of service!”

“Okay… Kuro.” Kenma settles. It’s a familiar name and it sounds easy on his tongue, like he’s said it a million times before. He offers a pinky shyly. “You promise to protect me?”

Kuroo hooks their fingers together without hesitation. “Forever.” He promises.

“Always.” Kenma finishes, though he’s not altogether sure where the phrase came from.

*

1599, summer

Kuroo’s yukata is tied loosely at his waist, exposing the grandeur of his well-trained muscles underneath the burning midday sun. Kenma watches him from his place upon the riverside rock as he practices his strikes, prancing about ankle-deep in the stream. Water splashes into the sky in a shimmer of seven colors every time he swung his sword.

“You’re getting really good at this.” He comments softly.

Kuroo smirks at that. “I must be, to get such an honest compliment from the likes of you.”

That makes Kenma’s face sour. “You make me sound insufferable.”

Kuroo laughs, and it’s a loud laugh that comes straight from his belly, all sincere and honest and ungraceful. It’s a nice laugh, and Kenma revels in it. To his surprise, in response he holds out the sword, extending it towards Kenma hilt first.

“You wanna try?” Another sly grin cuts across his face. “You could learn how to defend yourself.”

Kenma frowns. And while it’s so hot today and everything?

“Sounds like a lot of work, Kuro…”

But Kuroo is unyielding. His grin widens. “C’mon,” he urges, tilting his head invitingly. “I’ll show you how to do it.”

And that is how Kenma finds himself in the stream as well, with his own yukata tied around his waist and his considerably less-sculpted torso also exposed to the relentless sun. He is a little embarrassed, to be honest, but Kuroo doesn’t poke fun. Instead he positions himself behind Kenma, and a pair of strong, sturdy, calloused hands reach out to steady his wrists.

At the contact, Kenma gulps. Suddenly he is all too aware of the heat emanating from Kuroo’s body against his back.

“Like this.” Kuroo murmurs into his ear, guiding his right arm slowly. He bends it leftward in a slow, graceful motion, and in a flash makes it straight once again, causing the blade to zip through the air in a smooth arc. Kenma watches the light dance off of its edge, mesmerized.

“And here, this will give you a proper guard.” Kuroo’s strong hand grips his waist, straightening his posture and adjusting his stance. The way their skin comes into contact sends electricity rippling up Kenma’s spine, threatening to escape as a soft gasp through his lips. He huffs out a breath, and relaxes visibly when Kuroo lets him go.

“Try that again.”

Kenma tries his best to mimic the attack Kuroo taught him, but the sword feels heavy in his hands, unbalanced, and the strike is nowhere as smooth as before. But Kuroo exclaims proudly.

“What! That was so good.” He twists Kenma around slowly so that they were face-to-face, and gives him a bright grin. “Imagine what you could do with a balanced sword.”

Looking directly at Kuroo’s smile was like looking at the sun. Kenma flushes and averts his eyes to the stream. “You think so?”

“I _know_ so. As a matter of fact,” Kuroo says, “When I come back, I’ll give you proper lessons.”

Kenma’s eyes fly to him sharply.

“When you come back?” He questions softly, and Kuroo realizes his mistake. “Where’re you going?”

Kuroo smiles sheepishly, like he used to as a child when the elders caught him eating extra portions of fish. But Kenma only stares at him warily, too anxious for his response to smile back. Kuroo sighs.

“Alright, it’s…” He scratches the back of his head guiltily. “The western army needs reinforcements. I’ve been summoned to the battlefront.”

Kenma scowls at him.

“You promised you would protect me.”

Despite himself, tears well up in his eyes.

Kuroo’s eyes widen in alarm, and he closes the distance between them, enveloping Kenma in his strong arms. “Hey, no,” he reassures Kenma. “There’s no need to cry. I promised, remember?”

“But what if—” Kenma starts in a watery voice, but Kuroo tilts his chin up so that their eyes meet. Kenma’s words die midway up his throat when he sees the unhindered determination in Kuroo’s eyes. He lowers his head, gently at first, and grasps Kenma’s lips within his own.

It’s like being kissed by fire, and Kenma’s whole body is ablaze and warm like the sun in the afternoon sky. When Kuroo finally releases him, his heart is racing a mile a minute.

“I’ll protect you, always.” He reiterates with a confident grin, holding out his pinky.

This time, Kenma offers him the smallest of smiles despite the worry in his heart. He hooks their fingers together without hesitation.

“Forever.” He finishes, though his heart warned him otherwise.

*

The western army’s battle rages on through autumn, and deep into winter. One day, Kenma is playing shogi by himself under the gazebo over the frozen lake when a soft mewl interrupts his concentration. He looks back and finds a cat staring back at him, her glassy eyes wide and questioning. Purring, she hops off the wooden rails and melts into the shadows underneath the withering trees.

Curiously, he abandons the game and goes after her. The cat is nowhere to be seen, but there, underneath a dead willow, lies a leather-bound book.

Kenma opens it to find the first few pages dedicated to an old story. A tale from centuries past.

What he sees on the next page makes his heart lurch.

 _Kenma,_ it starts, in a familiar handwriting. In _Kuroo’s_ handwriting. He kneels by the willow, heart racing in his chest, and continues to read.

_Kenma,_

_Isn’t this a funny little notebook? I found it beneath a willow, protected by a gentle cat that wouldn’t let anybody touch it but me. I’m grateful for it, for strangely enough just holding onto it has given me a strange sort of courage—maybe I can get through this difficult winter after all._

The passage breaks here. On a different date, Kuroo has written:

_The tale about the prince and his warrior written here reminds me of you and me. The prince’s adamant prayer for the warrior to stay by his side struck a chord with me so deeply that I thought maybe I will begin pressing my soul into ink on these forgotten pages in hopes that this book finds its way into your hands someday._

_I won’t lie, Kenma. The battlefront is bloody, much bloodier than I thought. I considered myself a brave warrior, ready to face all that came my way, but my first day on the field had me shaking like a feather. It was only the thought of you, of protecting you, that gave me the strength to raise my sword._

Tears well up in his eyes, because the script is drawing to a close. The rest of the page looks empty save for a few more lines, as is the page next to it. But he isn’t ready to let this precious memento of Kuroo go, he doesn’t _want_ to let it go. It’s as if he is holding a piece of Kuroo close to his heart. With a shuddering breath, Kenma continues reading:

_Tomorrow, I ride into battle once more. The commander is confident that we can win this in one fell swoop if we can just manage to cut through their defenses early. I have faith in our men, and in myself. I can’t wait to tell you the story of our incredible victory when it finally happens._

Kenma’s blood goes cold. He flips through the pages frantically, looking for a passage, a sliver of text, _anything_. Anything that might give him a hint that Kuroo survived that battle. A cool fist clenches itself around his chest, suffocating him, strangling him in its relentless grasp.

“No.” He finds himself murmuring. “No, it can’t be.”

He rises from beneath the drooping willow, holding the book close to his chest. He stumbles through the courtyard, up through the great steps of the castle, all the way to his chamber where he and Kuroo first met on that fateful night so many years ago. He grinds some ink quickly, grabs a brush, and presses it into the page.

_Kuroo,_

_Please, come back. Please tell me more about your battles, about your hardships. Come back and tell me of your victories on the battlefield. Come back to me, like you promised. To protect me, like your promised._

His words are hardly coherent—the tears made it hard for him to see.

_That means you have to come back. You have to come back._

Kenma thinks back to that day on the stream when Kuroo told him of his departure. Why didn’t he try harder? Why didn’t he beg him to stay? If only he could turn back time to that moment, he would cling onto Kuroo and never let go.

The last lines are blotted with tears and barely legible.

_Please, Kuroo. Come back to me._

*

Months later, there is but one more line written at the bottom of the page:

_The enemy is here, Kuro. I’m still waiting for you to come and protect me._

*

At this point, Kenma closes the book quickly, terrified. He scrambles to his feet, away from his bed, away from the cursed book. What were the astronomical chances that a Kenma and Kuroo were to meet during the Sengoku era, fall in love, only to be ripped apart like that tale from the olden days? Why did the tale sound so familiar to him, and why did the plight suffered by the writers in the book resonate with him so? Why was he in tears, and why is there an aching in his chest, when he hardly ever cries over fiction? He hasn’t even cried over his favorite _game_ , let alone some rotting old curse book he found in a freaking dumpster of all things.

He blinks away the tears, quickly, and takes several, deep heaving breaths to calm down.

It must be a coincidence, he tells himself as he sits by the desk, flipping through the pages to the next passage. Yes. Just some crazy, freaky coincidence…

*

part three: world war II

1942

The ship cat mewls at Kenma softly, her wide and anxious beneath some crates of ammunition. He sighs in exasperation and begins shifting the boxes around slowly, trying to free the trapped animal.

“Be careful next time.” He scolds, but there’s no real fire in his voice.

Eventually the cat springs free with a victorious meow, and purrs against Kenma’s leg happily. Resisting a smile, he scratches her behind the ear when his sharp eyes catch the shadow of a rectangular form from beneath the crates. He reaches in and pulls it out.

A book. An old one. He traces the inscriptions on the leather gently, and a profound loneliness overcomes him, throttling him in its grasp. So much so that he has to take a shuddering breath to steady himself. With wary eyes, he flips the book open, and marvels at the tale inscribed within.

*

The only place of solitude he could find aboard the ship is at the stern, where the cold sprays of wind and saltwater along with the roaring engine overwhelms any and every conversation. The cat he freed earlier curls up by him as he sits cross-legged on the deck, poring through the stories within with a strange fervor. It’s extraordinary that he is the one to stumble upon the book, when it is a man with his namesake that is the star of the story in the Sengoku era.

 _Always,_ he reads. _Forever._

When the passages come to an end, he sighs in dismay. New books are a luxury on a wartime ship, and he’d hoped that the stories in the book would be enough to last him longer than that. He twirls a pen within his hands.

He shuts the book, but carries it gingerly under his arm as he returns to the barracks.

*

The battle is over, and at least for now he’s come out of it unscathed. It’s his first time experiencing such violence, such chaos. The sight of his comrades being gunned down by fighter pilots and being thrown overboard, staining the corpse-strewn Pacific in a horrifying shade of crimson has burned itself into the back of his mind, and every time he closes his eyes bile rises up his throat.

He has to do something, talk to someone, get rid of these horrors plaguing him somehow, or the next battle will claim his sanity if not his life. But who would he talk to? He’s never been close with his brothers-in-arms, not close enough to have a heart-to-heart in any case, even though rationally he understands that they went through the same thing and would be more than happy to help shoulder a fellow comrade’s burdens.

Kenma looks at his hands, and realizes that the blood of his allies still haven’t washed away properly. He rises from his bunk to make for the toilets. On his way out, his eyes catch the book from before sitting atop his shelf. He gives it a long, lingering look.

Then, grabbing the nearest pen he could find, he takes the book and makes his way to the ship’s stern.

_Dear friend,_ he writes.

_The recent battle has me reeling in its aftermath. I’ve seen enough death, enough violence to last me a lifetime. But like the rainclouds stretching out over the vast sky, up to every horizon, the war has no end in sight._

_Meaning that I need to learn how to cope._

_Tell me, friend. How do I protect myself from nightmares that are within me?_

He hesitates, looking up at the overcast sky mournfully. When he looks back down, he nearly chokes out a lung.

 _Tell me about it._ A strange scrawl has appeared underneath his words, in a penmanship that is not his own. _I’m feeling the same way._

Kenma blinks at the page, wondering if he’d imagined it. But then, right before his eyes, a new line of text fades into the parchment.

_I’m not imagining this, am I?_

Kenma wonders if he really did go insane in the last battle. Warily, he brings his pen to the page.

_Are you a demon?_

The reply is almost instantaneous.

_No, just a soldier like you. You’re Japanese, right? Which division?_

Kenma tells him.

_So you’re in the Pacific. I’ve been deployed to southeast Asia, myself. Isn’t wartime extraordinarily lonely? What would you do right now if you could be in Japan this instant?_

Kenma frowns, mulling it over.

 _I’d have some dango._ He scribbles in, wondering if the response was inelegant.

 _Mm, dango._ The writing responds. _Sounds delicious! It sure would be nice to join you. Have you ever been to Tokyo?_

Kenma pens down the answer. _I was born there._

 _Hey, me too!_ The entity responds. _Do you know this amazing dango place in Kamata?_

Kenma’s stomach growls. _Old Rikimaru’s place, right? I’ve been there before._

 _They do have delicious dango, don’t they?_ A pause, before the next line appears: _Say, friend, do you want to visit there with me once all this is over?_

In spite of himself, Kenma smiles. _Sure. Let’s do it._

*

His friend becomes a part of his life. Kenma writes him every day, telling him about every triviality of maritime life, from the danger of the stormy seas to the mice scuttling about in the galley. In return, he gets passages upon passages of the wonderful things his friend sees in southeast Asia, of the warmth and the sunlight and the beautiful historic temples. Kenma reads them, rereads them, memorizes them, almost to the point where it becomes a prayer. Their little exchange becomes a ritual of everyday life.

As the war continues, their conversations grow deeper, more tender. Kenma trusts this friend enough to spill to him the contents of his heart, to confide in him about his worries and fears and nightmares. He learns about his friend’s troubles as well, and together they help each other overcome the terror that always plagues soldiers upon a battlefield.

One night, in the middle of the conversation, his friend writes:

_What do you think of the stories in this book?_

Kenma considers the question. _I don’t know. It seems every owner has been faced with some tragedy or the other._

 _Hah, you got that right._ His friend writes back. _I admit, though. I envy them. I envy the love they had with each other. I’ve always wanted to know how that feels._

Kenma’s heart aches with longing in spite of himself. For some reason, he understands those words all too well. _But don’t you think they’d be happier had they not met one another?_

The reply is almost instantaneous. _No. Never. And I think if they were here, they’d agree with me. I’m sure they would choose being with one another over hiding from the misfortunes that come their way. They said so, didn’t they? ‘If not in this life, then the next. Always, forever.’_

In spite of himself, tears well up in Kenma’s eyes. With trembling hands, he writes: _I want to see you someday._

The script comes after a moment of hesitation. _And I you, my friend. This might be embarrassing, but I often lie awake at night thinking of you. I wonder what kind of a man you really are. What color is your hair? What is the shape of your eyes? What kind of smile do you have?_

Kenma blushes, his heart swelling with affection. The writer prattles on:

_I really want to see your face. I hope you’re as handsome as you are kind._

His cheeks burn, and he finds himself scowling. _I am not._

_Sure you are._

_Am not._

_Are too._

_Am not!_

Kenma is mortified at this point, but he can’t help but grin to himself as the words appear on the page.

_Well, I guess we’ll just have to see then, shall we?_

And it is the promise, the tenderness behind these words, that keeps him going strong in every battle he faces since then. Kenma isn’t interested in the glory of fighting and dying in a war that means nothing to him. But the promise of finally, finally meeting with a dear friend… now that—that was something he could look forward to.

*

_Hello friend._

_I have good news! Our division embarks today upon Tulagi for a strategic attack on the naval Allied units in the coral sea. Which is not the good news, of course, since a battlefield is never something to look forward to. But… but afterward, they’re sending us home. We can go home, finally!_

_Your unit is set to return as well, right? After the mission next month at Midway?_

Kenma’s words follow afterward:

_What a relief. I’m glad I’ll get to see you soon. Don’t go to the dango place without me, okay?_

Kuroo has written:

_Of course not. I’ll be waiting for you._

Kenma’s words:

_Promise?_

And Kuroo affirms:

_Promise._

*

_Hello friend,_

_Between the disaster that was our battle on the coral sea and our return home from deployment, I haven’t managed to write to you as often as I’d have liked. Everything’s been so hectic, but I’m glad I’m finally home!_

_Your battle should be over by now, right? I’m worried that I haven’t heard of you, but I’m sure it’s nothing serious. I’m sure you’ve just been too busy to write, like me._

_*_

_Hello friend,_

_I’m still hoping to hear from you._

*

_I mean, we promised, right?_

*

_I never even got your name, in the end. There was a reason I never offered my own, and I guess you had your own reasons for not telling me yours. But now… now I wish I told it to you. Because I guess this name of mine is cursed, after all._

_I wonder if you loved me._

_Because I fell in love with you._

_I didn’t even see you, but I was smitten. I was hopeless._

_And now I’ll never see you again._

*

_Kenma,_

_It was you all along, wasn’t it? I know. I looked up the KIA list for the Midway mission, and I saw your name. Kozume Kenma. That’s why you didn’t tell me, right? You didn’t want to believe in the curse either. You knew all along, didn’t you?_

_Anyway, I’m returning to battle—to hold Okinawa against the incoming Allied invasion. We failed in this life, my sweet prince. But in the next one, we’ll make it. We’ll make it for sure._

_I love you, always. Forever._

_Goodbye from your friend,  
Kuroo. _

*

part four: present day

Kenma splashes his face with water hastily.

No way could that have been real. He didn’t believe the slightest in ridiculous things like curses and destiny. Real life was already weird enough without all that to distract him even further. But reading the letters written by the Kuroos and Kenmas of the past… visualizing their lives had been unbelievably easy for him. It was as if he had been looking through a window to a long-forgotten memory.

He shakes his head, and the water flies from the wet edges of his bleached hair.

It’s ridiculous to even _consider_ that the stories in the books were real. More likely, this is some elaborate prank pulled on him by his idiot teammates or even—god forbid, because that would be a sick joke—Kuroo himself.

Yeah, he tells himself. That sounds more likely. Thinking back on how much Lev and the others liked to tease he and Kuroo about their close relationship, it seems exactly like the sort of thing they would do to mess with his head.

Right?

Somehow, he still can’t manage to convince himself.

*

Right before he goes to bed, he opens the book again, to a fresh page.

He hesitates for a second. Then, he presses his pen against the paper:

_You better not die on me this time… Kuro._

*

The following week has him on high alert, trying to deduce who it is that must have pulled this sick prank on him. He’s on a strange sort of edge all throughout practice, and is meaner than usual towards Lev, who he _still_ suspects is the mastermind behind this whole operation.

Kuroo notices his weird behavior, and brings it up as they walk home after practice.

“Hey, Kenma, is something up?”

Kenma narrows his eyes at him suspiciously, and then frowns down at his feet. Was Kuroo perhaps the mastermind behind this operation then? And he’s asking this to make sure that Kenma has really and truly fallen for it?

He huffs in annoyance.

“Oi,” Kuroo nudges him with his elbow. “You can tell me, yeah?”

Kenma glares at the asphalt. “It’s nothing… stupid Kuro.”

“It very well isn’t _nothing_ ,” Kuroo scolds. “It’s just going to eat away at you if you’re not going to tell me, you know. It’s not healthy.”

Kenma softens—but only slightly. “I’m fine, okay?”

“Promise?” Kuroo asks, gently this time.

Kenma chokes on his own spit, and stumbles in his stride. _This can’t be for real…_ He sighs in exasperation. That stupid cat and her stupid book is really bringing a whole load of unnecessary turmoil into his life.

“I’ll tell you later?” He finally compromises, because he really can’t talk about it right now. The stories are too fresh in his mind.

Kuroo studies him curiously for a second more. “Okay, Kenma.” A strong hand flies through his hair, ruffling it lightly. His fingers feel nice on his scalp, and the contact makes Kenma blush. “Just don’t let it weird you out too much, hmm?”

“I won’t.” He mumbles.

*

a week later

“Kenma!”

Lev’s loud voice comes barreling at him down the hallway as he makes his way to class. A twinge of annoyance flies through him.

“Lev, you’re loud.” He complains as the tall boy catches up to him.

“No, it’s”—he pauses to catch his breath—“I thought you should know. Kuroo is in the nurse’s room! He fell down the stairs”—

A ringing sounds through his ears. Without an explanation, he leaves a confused Lev standing there and he sprints down the hallway as fast as he can, with no other thought than to reach the nurse’s room as quickly as possible.

*

When the usually quiet Kenma barrels into the nurse’s room, commandeering all the attention, the nurse’s mouth drops. She stares at him with wide eyes as he strides past her towards the third year on the bunk, who is also gaping at Kenma in shock.

“K-Kozume-kun?!” She exclaims. Kenma doesn’t heed her any attention and walks straight to Kuroo, relief filling his heart upon seeing that Kuroo—at first glance, at least—seems mostly unharmed save for the bandaid on his chin.

“You’re okay?” He asks evenly, eyes glinting.

“Uh, yeah,” Kuroo stammers, studying Kenma with concern. “Lev tripped into me and I took a spill.”

Kenma makes a visibly annoyed face. _Lev._

Kuroo bursts out one of his loud, crazy laughs. “Sometimes it’s really easy to know what you’re thinking.”

Kenma frowns. He kicks the air by his feet unhappily. His hair falls down to curtain his face.

“Whatever.”

“Hey,” Kuroo reaches out, tilts his chin up. “You were really worried just now, weren’t you?”

“Well, yeah.” He mumbles.

“You shouldn’t be.” Kuroo says, softly. A smile stretches across his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Relief fills his heart; a coolness that numbs the fire he didn’t know had been burning within him.

His scowl deepens. That stupid book… He really did let it get to him, after all. He really shouldn’t have read it. Now he looks like an idiot—not just in front of Kuroo, but even the school nurse and that obnoxious _Lev._

He looks into Kuroo’s eyes, and his heart gives a pang. It took him the book to realize it, but he has been in love with Kuroo for quite some time, now.

 _Forever,_ he thinks, unable to help himself. _Always._

*

Later that night, Kenma sits by the desk, frowning at the book. Honestly, he’s considering throwing it in the trash after that embarrassing spectacle today. But the accursed thing keeps calling out to him, its allure getting stronger the longer he looks at it. With a dejected sigh, he flips through the pages, skimming the passages.

Out of curiosity, he flips to the newest page, just to look at the one line he wrote.

_You better not die on me this time… Kuro._

He flushes in embarrassment. He sounds like a moron now that he’s thinking back on it.

The window is closed, but a draught flies through the room. It chills his bones. The wind snaps at his hair, whipping it around his face. The book comes alive with a low hum, and then—right before his eyes—words ink themselves onto the paper in a familiar scrawl:

_Like I said. I’m not going anywhere._

Kenma’s heart somersaults into his throat, and all of a sudden he’s forgotten how to breathe. He blinks once, twice, _thrice_ but the words still remain on the page. And all at once he realizes what this means. What it’s meant all along.

He leaps from the chair, to his bed, where his phone lay atop the quilt. Who he’s looking for is on speed dial, like it’s always been, and he presses the phone to his ear with a strange urgency in him that he’s never felt before.

When Kuroo picks up, the words die in his throat. What does one even say, upon a reunion after a millennium of being torn asunder?

On the other end of the line, Kuroo sounds exhausted.

“Kenma,” he gasps out. “I’m here.”

Kenma would have smiled if he weren’t shell-shocked. “Don’t tell me you ran all the way here.”

“Of course I did.” Kuroo shoots back. “Let me in, will you? It’s the middle of the night.”

Kenma runs downstairs, flings open the door and finds him standing there on the porch, illuminated in the moonlight. His eyes are glinting with emotion, with tears, with—with _something_ Kenma can’t even put a name to, some light that is both new and ancient, powerful and fragile. In his hands he holds a weathered book akin to the one Kenma has.

A gasp escapes him as they embrace one another, _really_ embraces each other for the very first time in what seems like a thousand years. Kenma’s hands clasp onto Kuroo’s shirt, unwilling to let him go, terrified that he might dissipate into nothingness the second he releases his grasp.

Kuroo trembles against him.

“This is why… this is what’s been bothering you this whole time, isn’t it?” He tightens his hold. “Kenma, what the hell. You’re so brave. I’d be scared shitless if I were you.”

Kenma huffs against his chest. “To be honest, I spent a long time not believing it.”

At long last, they pull apart. Kenma looks at him with conviction.

“Let’s go.” He says in determination. “We need to put an end to this thousand-year old curse.”

*

“What do I have to do?”

“In the ancient tale… the demon told him—told _me,_ that this curse will go on until we give ourselves to each other.”

Kuroo grins widely. “Sounds somewhat sexual.”

“What”—Kenma flushes to the roots of his hair. Not that he’s opposed to the idea or anything, but this was not the time. “No. I think… I think I know what needs to be done.”

When Kenma tells him, Kuroo raises his eyebrows. He frowns.

“Sure sounds dangerous.”

But Kenma steels himself. “There’s no other way.”

*

Kenma kneels in front of Kuroo, placing his hand atop the book—Kuroo’s book. Kuroo mirrors him, but with the former’s copy. They each hold a razor blade in their free hand, the tips of which are pressed lightly into their index fingers.

“Remember, just a prick.” Kenma warns. “That should be enough.”

The room is alive with a foreign energy. It looks eerie in the moonlight, bleached into shades of black and white and cloaked in unfamiliar shadows.

“Ready?” Kuroo whispers to him.

“Ready.” Kenma agrees.

The blade pierces his skin, and a crimson spot of blood beads onto his finger. Almost in slow motion, it trickles down his fingertip and falls onto the book with a definitive drip that could be heard in an echo around the room.

The inscriptions on the book start to glow.

“I think it’s working.” Kuroo says, and Kenma realizes that Kuroo, his body and eyes alight in the warm orange glow emanating from the book, is really very beautiful. He reaches across to him with his free hand, the blade clattering onto the floor as he releases it, and intertwines their hands together.

Kuroo gives his fingers a squeeze. Their gazes meet.

“I love you.” He gasps out. “Always.”

“Forever.” Kenma agrees quietly.

A ringing fills his ears. The room blurs terrifyingly, causing Kuroo to dwindle from his sight.

“Kenma?” Kuroo asks in a panicked voice, and Kenma realizes the same thing must be happening to him. Their hands tighten onto one another’s. Kenma’s nails must be digging into Kuroo’s skin, such is the intensity of his hold.

The room fades away into darkness, and the pair collapse together, hands entwined, onto the floor of the room.

*

A pair of apparitions rises from the books on the floor. Memories. Shades. Remnants of a tale from years gone past. The first is young man with dark hair that falls as a curtain around his face. His elegant kimono is ripped at the shoulders, exposing scars on his shoulders that glows like the inscriptions on the books. When he opens his eyes, they blink across the room, searching, yearning, _needing._

The second man is taller, with spiky hair. He’s dressed in samurai’s robes, with a beautiful red katana hanging from his hip. His eyes blink open as well, and there’s only one thing he too wants to see.

“Kenma.” The samurai says, his voice hoarse. “At long last.”

The man named Kenma barrels across the room, and the samurai meets him halfway. They grasp one another in a tearful embrace.

“I never should have left you.” His happiness is clear on his face, in the smile cutting through the darkness, but the tears stream freely down his cheeks. “I should have listened to you.”

“I made a vow.” Kenma’s voice is watery. “That we would be together. We found each other every time, didn’t we, Kuro?”

“Thank you.” Kuroo gasps. He reaches up to grab Kenma’s face so that their eyes meet. “Thank you for this.”

“All our turmoil.” Kenma’s eyes are finally, finally full of relief. “It was all worth it in the end, wasn’t it?”

Kuroo reaches down to press a kiss onto Kenma’s lips. Kenma comes up to meet him. Their kiss is clumsy, noses clashing, gasping, mumbling sweet nothings to one another. And it is desperate. It is warm. It is life itself—the sweet, sweet fruit borne from a thousand years’ worth of anguish.

As they pull away, their images begin to shimmer.

“I love you.” Kuroo says.

“And I you.” Kenma smiles back. “Always.”

“Forever.”

The apparitions shimmer in the moonlight, and then fade into nothingness. Outside the window, a tabby cat peers up at the full moon. It seems her job is finally done. With a contented mewl, she too flickers, and then disappears from this physical world.

*

When Kenma comes to be, Kuroo is groggily shaking himself awake. He sits up slowly as well.

“Did we lose too much blood?” He mumbles, clutching his head.

“Nah,” Kuroo cranes his neck from side to side, stretching out his sore muscles. “It was only a prick.” Here he grins at Kenma mischievously. “Maybe the ghosts from the past came back to finally release us from the curse.”

Kenma rolls his eyes. “Real dramatic, Kuro.” He frowns at the tiny dot of a wound on his fingertip. “You think we’ll need a tetanus shot for this?”

“Gah,” Kuroo shudders. “I hate needles, so I sure hope not.”

Kenma realizes something. He looks around the room, at the floor, at the bed, onto the desk.

“The books are gone.”

“What?” Kuroo searches the room as well, and upon realizing that they indeed were no longer there, a thoughtful expression paints his face. “Huh.”

Huh, indeed. Maybe Kuroo was not too far off the mark with the whole ghosts returning from the past thing, after all. With the books gone, it would have been easy to convince himself that the whole incident was a figment of his imagination, but… but one thing was definitely true.

Kenma reaches over to Kuroo, grasps his face within his hands. Wearing only the smallest of smiles, he leans down and presses a soft, chaste kiss onto Kuroo’s lips.

“I love you, Kuro.”

“Always?” Kuroo says cheekily, but Kenma only smiles.

“Forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry about all the mistakes! I'll reread and fix it soon. I hope you liked my humble lil fic, and most importantly i hope it all made sense because i think it might end up being confusing????? let me know in the comments! thank you so much for reading it to the end! i love writing kuroken, and even though kenma is not a hero is INFINITELY superior to this, this fic has grown on me while i wrote it as well. i hope you had as much fun reading it as i did writing it. love you guys so much!!!! and thank you once again for giving this a chance.
> 
> PS. shoutout to one of my favorite fics of all time-- "long last we meet" by songs. im so sad that it's not on this website anymore.


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